


heart skipped a beat and when I caught it you were out of reach

by faithtastic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, First Time, Unconventional Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 19:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithtastic/pseuds/faithtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bethany crushes on Isabela, disapproval abounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the XX's Heart Skipped A Beat.

The first time Bethany encounters Isabela it's during a brawl at the Hanged Man. In the span of a few frenzied moments Isabela despatches two thugs with just her fists then pulls a dagger on the their leader, a lowlife by the name of Lucky, sending all three men scurrying.

Bethany's still gawking when Garrett introduces himself. It's only when Isabela returns a frank stare of her own, a quick, appraising sweep from head to toe and back again, that Bethany forces herself to look away, finding a sudden fascination with the sawdust that carpets the floor. 

  
***  


Over the following weeks, even as she learns that Isabela drinks too much, propositions almost everyone and says the most outrageous things, Bethany's quiet admiration grows. 

There are restless nights she lies in bed examining the events of the day, when the tension of worrying about discovery ebbs, and she finds herself thinking of Isabela, envying her irreverence, her carefree disposition, and wishing that just once she could allow herself the same freedom. 

Isabela's confounding and magnetic and Bethany's never known anyone like her. With her gold piercings and bright scarves she seems so exotic, so completely at odds with the downtrodden bleakness that permeates Kirkwall and its denizens; she's a streak of marvellous colour in an otherwise dreary world. 

  
***  


While many would argue that Isabela's most alluring attribute is her prominent chest, for Bethany it isn't anything so glaringly obvious. 

It's Isabela's arms that have Bethany captivated. They're lean, subtly muscular, covered in dark freckles and the sight of the golden serpent tattoo that encircles one forearm causes a strange, fluttery sensation to dwell within her chest. 

Garrett catches Bethany looking once, a deep frown etched on his features as he follows her line of sight. For the rest of the day she doesn't dare catch his eye. 

  
***  


Isabela doesn't really seem to be aware of the effect she has on Bethany. She makes suggestive comments, smirks and winks but Isabela is indiscriminate and unsubtle in her flirtations and it doesn't mean a thing. 

It doesn't mean a thing that when Isabela looks her way it makes Bethany's stomach drop, that she has to avert her gaze because Isabela's wicked amber eyes make her feel too exposed. 

For someone whose entire life and liberty has hinged on remaining unseen, it's a dangerous and terrifying feeling. 

  
***  


It happens while following Garrett on some errand that's supposed to help raise coin for the Deep Roads expedition but just seems like a lot endless trekking through sewage in Darktown. 

Bethany isn't quite sure how she stumbles into admitting that she's a virgin but Isabela takes great delight in this new-found nugget of information. She doesn't know what's worse: being invisible to Isabela or being the sudden, unwavering focus of her attention. 

When Isabela offers to treat her to a night at the Rose, despite Garrett's angry opposition, Bethany wishes she could magic herself away. As it is she blushes, ducks her head and prays that Isabela will quickly grow bored and find another target to torment. 

  
***  


Bethany watches Garrett's retreating back, as he and the Deep Roads expedition party trudge out of Hightown, and the guilt she feels is tempered by relief. Mother clings to her arm, tense with worry while all Bethany can do is be silently grateful. 

She'd made a convincing show of objecting to being left behind but, secretly, it's what she wanted. Does that make her a terrible sister? She looks over to where Isabela leans against a pillar. Their eyes meet and Bethany wonders if Isabela sees the shame that burns bright within her. 

"Don't worry, he'll be fine," Isabela offers with a faint smile. She pushes off from the pillar and starts to saunter away. "See you at the Hanged Man tonight for Wicked Grace?" 

Isabela doesn't hang around to hear her response. Mother's disapproval is almost tangible. 

  
***  


They're cleaning – surely an exercise in futility when it comes to Uncle Gamlen's rancid hovel – when Mother idly broaches the subject. "You've been seeing an awful lot of that Rivaini girl lately. Isabela, isn't it?" 

From the corner where he's pottering about, Gamlen scoffs, "Wouldn't be difficult. Everyone's had an eyeful of her; that pirate slut doesn't even wear trousers!" 

Bethany ignores him, scrubbing that much harder at an ominous stain on the floorboards. Her cheeks colour but she doesn't lift her eyes to look at Mother. "What of it?" It comes out sounding far too defensive. 

"Nothing," Mother says, taking a few steps closer and lowering her voice so Gamlen can't eavesdrop. "She's very... worldly and you've been so sheltered, my darling." 

Bethany does look up then. "I'm not a child. I don't need to be coddled." 

"It's just that with Garrett away and Carver..." Mother trails off, growing fretful. "Can you blame me for wanting to hold on to my little girl a while longer?" 

"Of course not." Bethany stands and gently takes hold of Mother's arms. "But I won't have you or Garrett choosing my friends for me. I know she's unconventional but I like Isabela, she makes me laugh." And cringe and be appalled in equal measure, she adds mentally. 

Mother touches Bethany's cheek. "I suppose these past few years you haven't had much to smile about. Just be careful, won't you?" 

It's only by the thinnest of margins that Bethany stops herself from rolling her eyes. It would be churlish and ungrateful and Mother doesn't deserve to have Bethany's frustration with the way things are taken out on her. 

She squeezes Mother's hand and gives a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "I always am." 

  
***  


"I've been thinking about what you said," Bethany says, fiddling with the metal buckle of her belt. Isabela gives her curious look. "About the Rose," she clarifies, half-under her breath, aware of the other patrons slumped against the bar nearby. 

"I see..." Isabela leers. "While Hawke's away, the mice will play. Let's ditch this place and head up there now. We'll find a handsome, strapping boy for you." 

"No. I mean - that's not what I had in mind." 

"Corff, put this on my tab, will you?" Isabela shouts across to the bartender. She turns back to Bethany, a speculative gleam in her eyes. "A pretty girl?" 

" _Isabela._ " Bethany's blushing, she feels the heat rising in her cheeks, but soldiers on regardless. "I really don't want to go to the Rose." 

Isabela pouts, clearly disappointed that a night with some prostitute isn't on the cards after all. "Why bring it up, then?" 

"Because I don't want to... give it away to a stranger, much less pay them for it." Bethany pauses, takes a small step closer as she lowers her voice. "I - I want it to be with someone I know, someone I trust, someone... experienced." She gives the other woman a meaningful look, hoping that she won't need to elaborate further because this is mortifying enough. 

Isabela stares at her for a beat before the slight widening of her eyes betrays her sudden understanding. Bethany waits for her to say something, anything. A long, interminable minute passes and she begins to wonder how she can possibly flee with some shred of dignity intact. 

"Oh?" Isabela swallows the last dregs of her drink then leans back, one elbow on the bar, slanting narrowed eyes in Bethany's direction. "And what are you going to do about it, sweetness?" 

It isn't a rejection, at least, though it feels like Isabela is mocking her. 

"I thought I _was_ doing something," Bethany responds, blowing out a frustrated breath. "Maker. You're intent on making this difficult for me, aren't you?" 

Isabela's laugh is rich and bawdy, only growing in volume when she sees Bethany's cheeks redden again. "How adorable you look when you blush." She signals the bartender. "I think we're both going to need a stiff one for this." 

While Corff pours the whiskey, Bethany fidgets under Isabela's gaze. 

They take their drinks to a vacant table. Bethany takes slow, delicate sips; she never could develop a taste for hard liquor but it gives her something to do while Isabela watches her. 

"You need to knock this swill back in one, it's the only way to make it halfway palatable," Isabela says and the way she leans forward, elbows on the table, accentuates her cleavage. It's a calculated move, designed to distract and disorient. Bethany's eyes flick down briefly then away. 

She does as Isabela suggests, finishing the whiskey in one long swallow and tries to suppress the urge to gag as it burns its way down her gullet. 

  
***  


Hanging back beside the closed door Bethany watches Isabela prowl across the room, eyes focused on the exaggerated sway of the pirate's hips. The liquid courage of earlier is fast deserting Bethany; her hands are clammy, a cold sweat making her blouse stick to her skin. The irony of the situation isn't lost on her; she's faced off templars, blood mages and demons galore but none of that has frightened her as much as the prospect of exposing herself, her body, to Isabela, a woman to whom this – _sex_ – is the most casual, meaningless thing in the world. 

She should run – every instinct is telling her to do so – but she doesn't. She forces herself to step forward. Isabela turns to her with a beckoning smirk. 

Bethany sets her staff against the wall, within arm's reach of the bed (force of habit) and moves slowly towards the other woman, drawing to a stop a foot's breadth away. She's never had call to stand this close to Isabela but being so near, now, she sees flecks of gold shimmer in Isabela's eyes, smells the potent whiskey on her breath as Isabela leans into her. 

At the first press of Isabela's lips against her own, just a tantalising brush, Bethany's eyes flutter shut. She inhales sharply, unprepared for how soft, how yielding Isabela's mouth is. It's not the first time she's been kissed. There was a farm boy in Lothering, Erik, but that was only twice and she hadn't liked his stubbly chin or sloppy technique. She tries to ignore the pang of sadness at the very real possibility that he didn't survive. 

Those maudlin thoughts slip away from her when Isabela kisses her again, firmer this time, and she gasps quietly when she feels the teasing swipe of a tongue against her upper lip. It causes what little control she has remaining to unfurl. 

She grips Isabela by the waist and tugs her closer, eliciting a pleased chuckle. "And I thought your brother was the forceful one." 

She doesn't want to hear about Isabela and Garrett, what they have or haven't done together, so the only option is to keep Isabela's mouth occupied. They kiss until Bethany's lips ache, a subtle throb that mirrors the growing one between her thighs. 

Bethany's hands shift when Isabela mouths a warm trail up her throat. She covers Isabela's breasts, palms curved against the heavy weight of them, at once fearful and excited as she gives a light, experimental squeeze. She's thought of this moment for so long, so often that it seems unreal. 

"Again," Isabela murmurs against her neck, breath hot and quick. "You won't break me." 

  
***  


Bethany reclines against threadbare pillows, loosely clutching tangled sheets to her chest. She watches in silence as Isabela sits on the end of the bed pulling on her boots, allowing herself a moment to absorb the sight of the other woman unimpeded while Isabela's back is turned. She's so gorgeous; all burnished bronze skin and endless curves and Bethany can hardly believe her luck, still. 

She wrestles with dozens of conversation openers before settling for: "Garrett's wrong, you know." 

Isabela stiffens momentarily as she buckles her boots. "Hmm?" 

"About you," Bethany says, almost a sigh. Her mind drifts back to the previous night, indulging vivid memories of Isabela above and around her. She'd barely been able to catch her breath after the first climax before Isabela was coaxing her towards another and it'd gone on like that all blessed night. "You're nothing like he says." 

Isabela stands, turning to face her. Aside from the boots, Isabela's stark naked and so shamelessly uninhibited about it that it makes Bethany blush. Her gaze wanders - she can't help it – from the proud jut of Isabela's breasts to the sparse dark hair between her legs. She knows now what it feels like to run her fingers through those coarse, springy curls, to feel the slick evidence of another woman's arousal on her skin; she's had the taste of Isabela on her lips; felt Isabela convulse around her fingers as she came apart. Now she has this knowledge she can't help but want more. 

"Don't read too much into it,” Isabela says, placing a hand on her hip. The action draws Bethany's eyes away and she looks up into Isabela's face. "I was doing you a favour." 

Isabela's expression would be inscrutable, were it not for the single furrow between her brows and the fleeting troubled look in her eyes. "Your first time should be enjoyable. Mine certainly wasn't and I... I wanted to give you that experience. That's all." 

Bethany pulls the sheets closer around her and looks away. "Well. I hope I wasn't too much of a disappointment." 

She feels Isabela's fingers under her chin then, forcing her to lift her eyes and the unexpected gentleness of the gesture causes her breath to catch. "You needn't worry on that count, sweet thing. For a novice you have very good instincts and a fantastically talented tongue." 

They stare at each other for a second and Isabela looks like she might say something else, instead she resumes pulling on her clothes. 

"Do you think we could... do this again, sometime?" Bethany cringes at how timid she sounds. 

Isabela glances over her shoulder. "Flattered and tempted as I am, if Hawke ever found out he'd have my guts for garters. Normally I'd be exercising bragging rights all over town but I value my innards so let's keep our girlie fun between us, shall we?" 

"I'd never tell him!" Bethany says, her face contorting at the mere idea. "Or anyone, for that matter." 

"Good. That's settled, then." 

"Good," Bethany agrees flatly, ignoring Isabela's stare as she throws off the covers and bends to pick up her own clothes. 

  
***  


She doesn't see hide nor hair of Isabela for two whole days until she swings by unannounced one evening. Bethany purposefully ignores Gamlen's distasteful utterances and Mother's steely gaze as she quickly ushers Isabela into her room. She closes the door, though the walls are so thin it's more a symbolic act than to preserve any privacy. 

"I was starting to think you were avoiding me," Bethany says with a brittle smile. 

"I was busy," Isabela shrugs. She does a circuit of the room, appraising and disregarding what few little knick-knacks the Hawke siblings have accumulated in their short time in Kirkwall. She lingers over Mother's betrothal portrait, lifting it and looking from the painting to Bethany. "There's quite a resemblance between you and Leandra. I don't think she likes me, though." 

"She's just being over-protective. She doesn't trust your intentions." 

"My intentions?" Isabela laughs, replacing the portrait. She walks – rather, _swaggers_ – towards the mage. "If only she knew." 

Bethany lifts her eyes to meet Isabela's. "Don't." 

"Don't what?" Isabela moves into her space, pressing their bodies intimately together. She angles her head, leaning in until they're practically breathing the same air. Isabela reaches up, sinking gloved fingers into Bethany's hair and pulls her into a kiss. 

It's embarrassing, really, how little resistance Bethany puts up and it's a minute, maybe five, before she breaks away, exhaling harshly against Isabela's lips. "I thought you said -" 

"I say a lot of things. It's my prerogative to change my mind." 

For a dazed moment she watches Isabela tug at the laces of her corset, only dimly aware of what's happening. She comes back to herself sharply. "No! Not here," she whispers. "Not with Mother and Uncle Gamlen in the next room!" 

Isabela smirks, readjusting her blouse. "Come to the Hanged Man, then." 

Bethany hesitates only a second. She grabs her staff and leads Isabela hastily out the room. "Don't wait up," she tells Mother in a rush, not daring to look back. 

  
***  


As soon as they make it beyond the threshold of Isabela's room the pirate's on her, kissing Bethany heatedly before shoving her backwards onto the bed. 

Isabela climbs on top, pinning Bethany's arms above her head and driving her tongue between parted lips. Bethany kisses back just as eagerly, as if she's parched and Isabela is the only thing that could possibly slake her thirst. 

She should be confused or offended or _something_ about the way Isabela blows hot and cold but all she feels is giddy that she's allowed to do this again. 

  
***  


Bethany lies on her stomach, recovering, when she feels fingers on her back, slowly mapping the notches of her spine. The pads of those fingers are rough, calloused from years of combat and seafaring and the feel of them against the soft skin of Bethany's back causes pleasant ripples of sensation. 

"That's nice," Bethany says, words muffled against the pillow. It's meant as an encouragement but it appears to have the opposite effect as Isabela takes her hand away. 

At the loss of contact, Bethany turns over. "Is something the matter?" 

There's a frown on Isabela's face, her expression more serious than Bethany's ever seen. "We can't do this again." 

Bethany sits up slowly. Nervousness flutters within her but she tries to keep her voice calm, casual when she questions: "Why?" 

Isabela gives her a look, widening her eyes as if Bethany's missing the obvious. She shakes her head and averts her gaze. "When Hawke comes back he won't abide me bedding his darling, innocent sister, for one thing. I may as well have myself gift-wrapped and handed over to... ugh." 

Bethany sighs. "He won't hear it from me. Anyway, I thought you didn't care what anyone thought about you?" 

"I don't," Isabela says sharply, shifting her eyes back to Bethany. "I care about my continued good health and future good fortune. Neither will be much consolation when I'm lying face down in a ditch because Hawke's garotted me." 

"You don't know that." 

"It's what I'd do if I was him." 

Bethany's torn between being touched by the oblique compliment and annoyance at the other woman's stubbornness. "So that's it, then? You really don't want to... see me any more?" 

"Sweetness, what I want and what's going to happen are two entirely different things. You'll thank me for it, you... deserve someone decent." 

There's a finality to it as they dress and Bethany finds herself reluctant to leave, lingering over the laces and buckles of her clothing. 

  
***  


When the templars finally arrive at their door, it almost comes as a blessed relief; there will be no more running or hiding and, for that, Bethany's glad. 

It doesn't happen in the dead of night, like she always feared it would. There's no violence, no forced entry. Instead Knight-Captain Cullen, flanked by a couple of recruits, knocks on the door, perfectly civil as he asks to come inside. Gamlen uselessly tries to fend them off with lies and Bethany feels an unexpected swell of affection for him. 

"It's all right, Uncle," Bethany says, appearing at his shoulder. "I suppose I've avoided this long enough." 

Mother's beside herself, of course, berating the templars and the Maker for taking away her children. And that's the moment Garrett strides through the door, looking like a ghost of himself in dirty, scuffed plate armour, with matted hair and covered in scratches. "What's going on?" he demands, gaze swinging from Cullen to Bethany to Mother. 

"Mistress Bethany is being taken to the Circle of Magi in the Gallows," Cullen says, all-business despite the assistance the Hawke siblings have provided him in the past; even goodwill runs out eventually, it seems. 

Garrett just stares at Bethany. "But... the Gallows is horrible! You can't go there." 

As if she has any choice in the matter; the law is the law. "I have to," she says simply. This is the day they've all been waiting for all their lives and Bethany surprises herself with how calm she is, how matter-of-fact, while Mother falls apart and her older brother, normally so fierce and strong, looks utterly bereft. "That's where apostates go, isn't it?" 

"Consider yourself fortunate," Cullen says with mild disdain. "The Viscount has requested we spare your family the punishment for harbouring a dangerous mage." 

"Oh, Bethany," Mother says, wringing her hands, "what will happen to you?" 

Death, if she fails the Harrowing; otherwise a lifetime of scrutiny and control. "Don't worry, Mother, I'll be fine," Bethany says, forcing a smile. She turns to Garrett. "Look after her." 

She reaches for the scarf tied loosely around her neck, pulling it free, and presses the red cloth into his hands. "Give this to Isabela for me, will you?" He looks at her uncomprehendingly. "Please, it's important to me." 

"What should I say?" His voice sounds hoarse, broken. 

A small smile touches Bethany's lips. "Tell her... something to remember me by." 

She follows Cullen without protest, allowing herself one final glance at her family. It breaks her heart to see Mother on the floor, sobbing inconsolably as her brother tries to comfort her, but she must be the strong one now. 


	2. Chapter 2

When Bethany spots a grim-faced Uncle Gamlen loitering in the Gallows courtyard, surprise quickly gives way to panic. This is no social visit; it's the first time she's seen him in the ten months since the templars came for her, which means something is wrong. Heedless of the words of rebuke from the templar recruit shadowing her movements, she crosses the cobbled ground in a few quick strides.

Gamlen looks pale, the bags under his eyes more pronounced, as if he hasn't slept for days. His gaze shifts restlessly, never quite meeting Bethany's.

“Uncle? What's the matter?”

“It's your Mother...” he begins, twisting his hands one over the other. “Leandra's dead.”

Bethany stares at him, unable to believe her ears. She wishes dearly that she had her staff to hand, something solid and real to steady herself. This _can't_ be happening. “But – I saw her only last week. She was healthy and – and she seemed happier. She said she'd met someone...”

Gamlen shakes his head bitterly. “Turns out Quentin was a blood mage. Sick bastard murdered her.”

“ _What_? Why?”

“Your brother won't divulge the grisly details and, truthfully, I'd rather not know.” He reaches over and gingerly pats her arm, as pathetic and clumsy a gesture of comfort as he's ever given. “Don't worry, girl, Garrett put an end to him.”

That should be some small consolation but it does nothing to abate the bleak sorrow that's crushing down on her. Sometimes, however ineptly, Gamlen means well but he's no substitute for her older brother. Right now Gamlen's very presence, the scent of ale and stale sweat that clings to him, turns her stomach.

Perhaps he senses she's moments away from doubling over because he edges away. “I'll write to the Knight-Commander, see if allowances can be made for you to attend the funeral.”

Once he's gone and she's returned to the relative privacy of her cell, she retches into the chamberpot.

***

 

In the end it's Knight-Captain Cullen who sways Meredith's opinion and accompanies Bethany to the funeral himself. It's impossible to miss the shy looks he gives her and she has no doubt it's what motivated him to intercede on her behalf. In another life, in a different set of circumstances, she might have found it charming the way he blushes around her. As it is, his unwelcome attention worries her; the last thing she needs is insinuations and accusations of favouritism.

The service is a small one, sparsely attended. Even the du Launcets, supposed childhood friends of Mother's, opt to stay away. For all the recovery of the Hawkes' fortune and estate, they're still considered outcasts by the upper echelons of Kirkwall society, the subject of whispered gossip and frowning condescension. She ought to be offended but Bethany finds she doesn't have the strength for it.

She's met at the Chantry doorway by Aveline and Varric, each murmuring their condolences. Inside she sees Merrill, Anders and Fenris, at pains to keep their distance from each other. She cranes her neck, peering into the dark recesses of the building.

“Hawke and your Uncle are with the Sebastian, finalising the eulogy,” Aveline says, stoic as ever, though the strain shows around her eyes. Leandra was like family to her too.

Bethany nods absently, still surveying the mourners gathered. “Looking for someone else?” Varric asks lightly, eyebrows raised, and Bethany wonders whether he knows more than he's letting on. Isabela's not renowned for her discretion and it's not beyond the realms of possibility that the pirate let something slip to her frequent drinking partner.

“No one in particular,” Bethany replies, not sure why she feels a fissure of disappointment considering Isabela's conspicuous absence is hardly surprising. She's being foolish. Still, she'd hoped...

Varric guides Bethany by the elbow to a pew, keeping his voice low as he talks. “Rivaini sends her regrets. Said she'll raise a glass in Leandra's honour.” Off Bethany's quiet glance, he shrugs. “Don't be too hard on her, Sunshine, you know this isn't in her repertoire.”

***

 

Afterwards, as she holds on to Garrett in a fierce hug, she's almost certain she catches a glimpse of a blue scarf in the corner of her eye. But when she turns her head to look properly, it's gone.

***

 

Several days after the funeral Bethany receives a letter. She recognises the looping, flamboyant hand-writing immediately and, inexplicably, her hands shake as she tears open the envelope.

_Dear Bethany,_   
_For what it's worth, I'm sorry about Leandra. She was a decent woman; she even had the good sense to distrust me._   
_You remember the relic I've been searching for? I have a solid lead. Looks like I may finally get C off my back._   
_Isabela_

_PS I saw you on the Chantry steps. I bet you have everyone swooning over you. Hope your confinement isn't too horrible._

She reads it six times over, fingertips tracing the shapes of letters until they begin to smudge. It's only a letter – a note, really – but it feels like a lifeline.

***

 

She waits a respectable few days before replying, her own script neat and precise.

_Dear Isabela,_   
_It isn't bad here. Most of the templars are decent people and I try to avoid the ones that aren't as pleasant. First Enchanter Orsino seems to think I have potential and wants me to train as an enchanter but, Maker, there's so much to learn!_   
_That's good news about the relic but I hope you'll be careful._   
_Bethany_

_PS You exaggerate wildly. The robes we have to wear are hideously unflattering._

***

 

_Dear Bethany,_   
_I'm afraid careful isn't in my vocabulary... Don't worry, I'll try not to get myself killed. I'm far too pretty to die young._   
_Isabela_

_PS I've enclosed some bedtime reading for you. Not as racy as Hessarian's Spear but I think you'll like it._   
_PPS Keep an eye on that old lecher Orsino. I suspect his interest may be more than academic._

***

 

_Dear Isabela,_   
_Thanks for the book, I think. I'm still blushing._   
_I can't help worrying about you. Please don't do anything rash without talking to Garrett._   
_Bethany_

_PS Pretty? That's an understatement when it comes to describing you.  
PPS You're wrong about Orsino (I lack the requisite anatomical parts...)_

***

 

_Dear Bethany,_   
_I can't make any promises but I will speak to Hawke._   
_Isabela_

_PS You could charm the granny panties off Andraste herself._   
_PPS Good. Now I won't have to castrate him._

That's the last she hears from Isabela. The following week everything goes to hell.

***

 

It's the first time Bethany's properly seen Isabela in almost three years and the circumstances of their reunion aren't exactly joyous; the city is in flames, the viscount murdered by marauding Qunari, and at the centre of it all is Isabela and her “relic”. Now she understands why the pirate was always so vague and evasive about the blighted thing.

While Isabela's role in all this is perplexing enough, it's the sight of the familiar red material rolled up and knotted around Isabela bicep that's most jarring and Bethany doesn't have the luxury of time to unravel what it means. The Arishok lies slain in the throne room and there's sheer pandemonium all around as the nobles cheer on her brother as the new Champion of Kirkwall, but the way Isabela stares right at Bethany, slowly taking in the measure of her in her enchanter robes, doesn't escape Bethany's notice.

It isn't until later, while the city guard, the templars and the mages alike take stock of their losses and tend to the wounded, that Isabela pulls her aside and practically drags her into a secluded storeroom. Bethany barely has the opportunity to take umbrage at being manhandled before Isabela's shoving her against the wall and slanting her mouth against Bethany's own. They kiss for several desperate minutes until they both pull away, panting.

“Someone will notice I'm gone,” Bethany says breathlessly. “I can't -”

“All the more reason not to waste time talking, you goose.”

The other woman leans in to claim her mouth again but Bethany holds her off.

Honey-brown eyes narrow, boring into her and Bethany feels herself wilt. “Tell me you haven't thought about me during those cold, lonely nights in your cell.”

She feels Isabela's lips on her cheek, trailing across to her ear. “Tell me you haven't frigged yourself silly pretending it's my hand getting you off,” Isabela continues, her voice barely more than a sultry whisper. “Or is it Knight-Captain Cullen you imagine, sticking it to you hard and fast, making you scream?”

“No!” Bethany hisses, horrified. Since being taken to the Circle she's been as chaste as a Chantry sister but she's not going volunteer that information; why give Isabela the leverage? Regardless, there's a smug look on Isabela's face now and Bethany should really know better than to let herself be provoked so.

“Oh, I know what you like,” Isabela says, taking Bethany's pliant hands and placing them on her body as she insinuates a firm, leather-clad thigh between the mage's legs. “Breasts and hips and a nice, juicy cu-”

Bethany kisses Isabela then, just to shut her up, and allows Isabela to ruck up her robes. It only takes a few fraught minutes for Isabela to make her come, which she does with a silent gasp, thighs clamping around Isabela's hand.

***

 

They have moments, at most, before Bethany must hurry back to Orsino and their watchful templar overseers. Bethany kisses Isabela languidly, deeply, to sustain herself for a drought, committing every nuance of Isabela's lips, her mouth, to memory.

“I missed you,” Isabela says between kisses and it's enough to stop Bethany, make her draw back in surprise. “Did you like the compilation of Antivan poetry I sent you?”

“I – they confiscated it. 'Non-curricular', they said. Thank you, though I'm not sure the illustrations were anatomically possible.”

Isabela sighs. “If only we had a few hours together I could thoroughly disavow you of that notion.”

Bethany laughs, despite herself and their impending separation. “I've missed you, too.”

“So when can we do this again?” Isabela asks, dragging her lips distractingly up Bethany's throat, across her jaw and up to her ear, before nibbling on the lobe. It would make her weak-kneed, if she wasn't already.

“I don't know,” Bethany says, helpless under the onslaught of the other woman's mouth.

“You're Orsino's protégée. You must be able to get away from the Gallows for a couple of hours, surely?”

“Hardly. Meredith has us watched even more closely than the blood mages they've captured.” She feels Isabela start to pull away and clutches at her waist. “I do want to see you. I just don't know if it's possible.”

Isabela winks at her, presses one last kiss to her lips. “I'll think of something.”

***

 

She's in her cell, reading at the desk, when a templar enters without announcing himself.

“It's considered polite to knock,” Bethany says pointedly, not looking up from the pages of her book. When she first arrived at the Circle she was so meek, so fearful of drawing the attention of her captors; now it seems Orsino's belligerence is rubbing off on her.

“You have a visitor in the Courtyard. Your cousin, Francesca.”

Bethany twists around in her chair. “But I don't --” She stops herself, puzzled. She can't remember Mother or Gamlen ever mentioning a cousin with that name. Perhaps a relative on Father's side? “All right, take me to her.”

Soon it all clicks into place. Even in a fancy high-society dress with ruffles, Bethany would recognise that silhouette anywhere. Isabela turns when she hears the heavy chink of armour approaching.

“Ah, cousin Bethany!” Isabela drawls in a comically exaggerated accent that oscillates somewhere between Antivan and Orlesian. “You are looking very well. A little skinny though. Do these brutes not feed you?”

The templar scowls at Isabela.

“Cousin _Francesca_. This is... unexpected.” Bethany finds herself staring because the other woman actually scrubs up rather well. She's hardly ever seen Isabela's hair out of that ratty blue headscarf, much less pinned up with loose, curled tendrils attractively framing her face. She looks almost respectable... aside from the plunging décolletage.

“Aunt Carlotta sends her warmest regards.” She flashes a charming smile at the templar. “May we take a stroll around the courtyard, serah?”

“Just remain in my sight,” he responds gruffly.

“Of course,” Isabela defers with a slight curtsey. She links arms with Bethany, guiding her away.

“Are you mad?” Bethany hisses once they're out of earshot. There are far too many templars around; one of them will surely recognise Isabela from the Rose.

“Shh. Just play along and try not to stare at my tits.” She ignores Bethany's outraged expression. “I have a plan to spring you.”

Bethany stops abruptly. “What? No!”

“Just hear me out.” Isabela tugs Bethany's sleeve, making her fall into stride again. “There are tunnels under the Gallows, Anders took us there once. He and his cronies have been using them to smuggle mages out into Darktown. We could -”

“ _No_. It's too dangerous. You know what would happen if we got caught.”

“So you'd rather rot away in a prison for the rest of your life?”

They halt, turning to face each other. Isabela looks worried, visible in the tiny crease between her eyebrows.

“Why are you doing this now? What's wrong?”

Isabela's eyes shift away. After a moment's silence, she heaves a sigh. “It's Castillon. I heard from a reliable source that he's bound for Kirkwall. Since I don't have that bloody Tome anymore, I'm done for.”

“Can't my brother do anything? Or Aveline?”

Isabela gives her an incredulous stare. “Neither of them are talking to me at the moment. I did the right thing only to get the silent treatment. There's a lesson there.” She sighs. “Look, I intend to leave before Castillon gets his slimy hands on me and I don't plan on coming back this time.”

“Oh,” Bethany says, feeling as if the breath has suddenly been knocked out her lungs. She wants to take Isabela's hands, very much wants to kiss her but she can't because there are templars everywhere, watching, and they've spun this silly lie about being cousins. Perhaps Isabela sees the yearning in her. She lifts a hand to Bethany's cheek for a moment, the warmth of her palm seeping into her.

“I've saved some coin, secured passage on a ship to Llomerryn. It sails at first light tomorrow.” Isabela chews her lip, something like nervousness clouding her expression. “You could... come with me.”

Bethany flounders, like a boat tossed about by a storm. “I – I don't know what to say.” There's Garrett to think of. She's too prominent, Meredith and the templars would hunt her down with or without her phylactery. Even if she could somehow escape the Gallows she'd never make it to the docks. It would be madness to try.

“Mages are free in Rivain; there's no Circle. You could have a life there.”

She looks around the courtyard, at the bronzed statues of slaves that made her cower when she arrived in Kirkwall all those years ago, at the sneering templars that she's grown to resent rather than fear, then back to Isabela. “What would I _do_?”

“Whatever you want. You could weave baskets or grow crops or whatever it is you Lothering girls know.”

“I'd like to teach, I think.” She indulges herself, allowing herself to imagine a possible future: a schoolroom, rows of desks and sat at each one an eager child, brimming with curiosity.

Isabela smiles. “I can see you doing that.” Her eyes stray past Bethany's shoulder, to the templar rapidly approaching. “Shit. Looks like our time's up. So you'll come?”

What else is there for her? 

Bethany nods her agreement and is startled to be pulled into a bone-jarring hug. “Be ready at midnight,” Isabela quickly whispers into her ear before planting a kiss on her cheek. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured with DA:I looming, I really ought to finish this. Sorry for the (2 year!) wait.

Glancing at the candle, almost burnt down to the wick, Bethany knows that midnight is fast approaching. Even in all the years of concealing herself from the Templars, she's never felt this level of pure, distilled anxiety. She's been pacing, barefoot, for what seems like hours, trying to work off some of this nervous energy but to no avail.

She's trembling, terrified but not because she fears being caught. No, it's the thought that midnight will roll around and nothing will happen, the thought of having her hopes raised only to be cruelly dashed. Until now she hasn't consciously considered escaping but now the possibility exists in her mind, she finds she can't go back to quiet resignation. She wants more than this stifling, cloistered existence.  

But what if Isabela decides that the risk is too great? What if - what if -

Her spiralling thoughts are interrupted by a barely there knock on the door. Her chest seizes in a panic and she calls out quietly, "who is it?"

"Mistress Bethany, it's Keran."

Hugging herself with one arm, her other hand reaches out to lift the latch on the door. It creaks open an inch or two and she peers out into the corridor. Indeed she sees Keran, Ser Thrask at his shoulder. "Yes?" 

"You must come quickly. We're to take you to the tunnels."

There's no reason to distrust these two men, given their history, but Bethany still hesitates. 

Ser Thrask gives her a reassuring smile. "Your friend said you might be reluctant, so she said to give you this." He reaches into a pocket and produces a piece of dark fabric. It's only when Bethany takes it from him and the light from Keran's lantern spills over it that she recognises the rich red material. Her heart tightens in her chest and she nods quickly.

From her cell she grabs the scruffy old carpet bag containing all her worldly belongings and follows her escort.

It isn't until they're far into the tunnels under the Gallows that she finally begins to believe they might get away with this. None of them have spoken a word since they departed Bethany's cell but there is something that's bothering her. "Why are you doing this, helping me?" she asks bluntly, voice echoing around the walls and making her cringe. She doesn't mean to be rude or ungrateful but if she's learned one thing from living in Kirkwall it's that there's no such thing as altruism.

"Although I find his methods questionable, I do owe the Champion a favour for all he's done to help mages," Ser Thrask said evenly. "I may have need to call upon more favours in the future."

Keran nods. "He and his companions saved my life. One good turn deserves another."

"Thank you, then. But what about my phylactery?"

"With luck you'll be long gone by the time your cell is discovered empty and the alarm is sounded."

She isn't one to put stock in luck - her life has hardly been charmed thus far - but she doesn't express her worry, instead offering a tense smile.

 

**

 

They're met at the exit by a welcome sight: Isabela lounging against the stone wall. Bethany could almost weep she's so happy and relieved to see her.

"Good luck to you, Mistress Bethany," Keran says, falling back into the shadows.

"Farewell," Ser Thrask adds, "we must make haste to return to the Gallows."

"Thank you again. I'm in your debt," Bethany calls after them before turning and hurrying to Isabela. She thinks about throwing her arms around the other woman but Isabela looks shifty. "What now?"

"Now we get our arses to the docks without being spotted." She reaches into the burlap sack beside her feet and pulls out a tattered shawl, tossing it at Bethany. "Put this on and ditch the staff."

"But -" she glances over her shoulder at the staff strapped to her back, "th-this was Father's, I can't - "

Isabela cuts her off, deadly serious for once. "I'm not playing around here. Nothing says 'mage' like a ruddy big mystical stick."

Bethany sighs. "Fine." She lays the staff gently on the ground, giving it one last regretful look as she follows Isabela out into the squalour of Darktown.

 

***

 

The last time she was at sea Bethany was fleeing for her life, from the Blight and the darkspawn. For two weeks they sailed, what remained of her family, Aveline, and a hundred other refugees crammed into the hold. She vowed, as soon as they arrived in Kirkwall, she'd never set foot on a boat again unless her life depended on it.

Now, here she is, fleeing to freedom in another foreign land. Except this time she has the relative comfort of a private cabin and plentiful food and water for the voyage. It doesn't quell her uneasiness, nor the heartsickness she feels at having left without saying goodbye. She hopes Garrett will understand, that Varric and Aveline won't think too poorly of her.

A month they've been at sea, she and Isabela in close quarters in their shared accommodation. While Bethany grows more restless by the day, Isabela is in her element. The closer they sail to Llomerryn, the more Bethany worries whether she's done the right thing, wondering how she'll establish herself, a woman alone in a strange place. Before she had Mother and Garrett, even the Circle to provide for and protect her; she isn't convinced Isabela won't ditch her for a better prospect.

Attachments are not in Isabela's nature so she can't understand why Isabela risked life and limb to liberate her. There's no profit in it, save Bethany's gratitude. Well, that, and all the sex they've been having. She isn't foolish enough to think of that as anything more than a diverting way for Isabela to while away her time until they reach land.

Form her perch on the truckle bed Bethany watches Isabela, head bent over a tattered map at the rickety table that passes both for a desk and as a dining table. The soft lamplight flatters her, making her almost more beautiful than Bethany can stand. She doesn't know what to do with these feelings that churn inside her, except she should probably keep them to herself.

 

***

  

The marketplace in Llomerryn is a riot of colour and noise: merchants hawking their wares, exotic aromas drifting from food stalls, a cacophony of foreign voices, crowds stretching as far as the eye can see. It's nothing like the Lowtown bazaar and Bethany drifts from stall to stall, drawn to the trinkets and brightly coloured fabrics on display.

As she browses someone catches hold of her elbow. She turns, expecting Isabela, but it's a swarthy man, tall and broad. His smile reveals gold-capped teeth and on instinct Bethany shrinks back.

“Perhaps you are interested in taking a look at my merchandise? I have some rings that would look magnificent on a woman as beautiful as you.”

“Um, thank you but I- ” She looks beyond him and round about but there's no sign of Isabela. They must've got separated somehow.

“Come, my shop is just over there.”

“All the same, I'd rather not.”

“Just a look? What harm could it do?”

He advances only one step when they both notice the sudden glint of steel and the tip of the dagger that's brought swiftly to his neck. “What part of 'no' don't you understand?” Isabela allows her blade to nick the surface of his skin, a warning. With her free hand she reaches for Bethany, winding an arm around her waist and pulling her close.

It's just for show, she knows that, but Bethany can't help but glance at Isabela in astonishment.

He lift his hands, backing away. “Forgive me, I meant no disrespect.”

Isabela doesn't relinquish her hold, not until long after the merchant's disappeared from sight. It's then that Bethany notices Isabela's almost shaking with anger.

“This isn't Kirkwall. If you're going to last a day in this city you'll need to develop some street smarts. That means no wandering off on your own.”

“I wasn't-”

Isabela just pins her with a look that's fierce enough to silence Bethany for the rest of the afternoon.

 

***

 

Bethany withdraws to one corner of their rented lodgings, a room above a tavern in a less rambunctious quarter of town. Wary of provoking Isabela further she sits down to write a letter to Garrett and she's so deep in concentration that she doesn't notice Isabela's approach until the quill is gently taken from her hand and set aside.

She looks up, curious and a little afraid that this is it: the inevitable, Isabela cutting her loose.

In one sinuous movement Isabela slides onto her lap, straddling her thighs, and relief drains through Bethany. “I overreacted back there. I'm sorry,” Isabela murmurs, fingers splayed across either side of Bethany's neck. She dips her head, noses along Bethany's jaw. “Let me make it up to you?”

Isabela brings their mouths together, each kiss melding into the next until Bethany feels hot and impatient for more, until Isabela's rocking meaningfully into her lap. Just as they're getting somewhere – Bethany's fingers slipping under the hem of Isabela's blouse and reaching for her smalls – the pirate stills, sits back. “When I saw his hand on you, I just...”

Isabela's eyes are piercing, engorged with want and something indecipherable and it makes Bethany's chest bloom with feeling. “It's all right,” she says, her voice breaking on the last syllable.

It seems silly, now, to point out that as an elemental mage – an  _enchanter_  - she's perfectly capable of defending herself (there are several hundred dead men, demons and assorted creatures to attest to that fact) but she suspects it isn't really about that.

She takes a gamble, swallowing thickly. “I don't want anyone else touching me. Only you.”

There's an unusual hesitancy when Isabela kisses her again.

  

***

 

“Oh, oh Maker!” Bethany gasps then bites down on the back of her hand to try to stifle a moan. The walls are so thin here it's almost like being back in Gamlen's house. Her other hand is lodged in Isabela's hair, fingers tightening against Isabela's scalp as she descends Bethany's body, peppering overheated skin with kisses and licks and the occasional scrape of teeth.

Even though the bed is cramped and Isabela's nails dig almost painfully into her hips, this is exactly where Bethany wants to be.

When she comes, she feels ablaze, fire dancing down her spine all the way to her toes and the words she's been holding back for weeks nearly trip from her lips:  _stay with me, don't leave me, I'm in love with you._

It's only much later that she notices the sheets are singed with the imprint of her fingers.

  

***

 

“Did you ever... with Garrett?”

Isabela is placid, tracing lazy shapes on Bethany's bare skin. “Why?”

“You were always... well,” Bethany closes her eyes, as if to dispel her thoughts. “It doesn't matter.”

“Clearly it does, otherwise you wouldn't be asking.” The corner of Isabela's mouth turns up slightly. “But to answer your question, no, nothing happened. Not for lack of trying on my part but Hawke was never tempted. His interests lay elsewhere.”

Bethany turns onto her side to face the other woman. “What do you mean?”

“Didn't you see the way he looked at Fenris when they first met?”

“ _Fenris_? Really?” Bethany blinks, wide-eyed. “I suppose I was too busy looking out for Templars to notice anything else. Are they happy together?”

Isabela scoffs then dips her head thoughtfully. “As much as two sulky, argumentative buggers can be. Just think of all that angry sex they must be having.”

“Ugh! Why must you say these things?”

  

***

 

"I'm really quite taken with you," Isabela says some time later, ending the languid silence.

Bethany had begun to drift off; at this admission her eyes spring open.

She doesn't dare to hope or assume anything but the way Isabela's looking at her, the unwavering intensity of her stare, is making it very difficult. "What does that mean?" she asks, somehow managing to keep the tremor out of her voice.

Isabela lifts one shoulder in a shrug. She reaches across the bed, strokes Bethany's cheek and Bethany's powerless to look away. Her heart is beating madly within the confines of her chest but she waits patiently, quietly.

Isabela's hands, freed from the gloves she habitually wears, show the ravages of the elements, of violence. Those strong, slightly crooked fingers have brought her pleasure, were inside her not long ago and they still hold the scent of her. The thought, even now, makes Bethany blush.

So she leans across, kissing Isabela's burgeoning smirk to blot it from her vision. When the pirate's hands reach for her this time, they settle on her hips and pull Bethany closer until she's situated against pillowy curves. Isabela rolls onto her back, taking Bethany with her. 

She braces her arms on either side of Isabela's shoulders, suddenly breathless as she gazes down at the other woman. Having Isabela beneath her like this, however temporarily, makes her feel powerful. Even the times she's had magic blasting from her fingers have nothing on this. 

"I know you don't like to talk about feelings," she begins, because she doesn't know when she'll have another opportunity, punctuating her words with a roll of her hips that makes the other woman hum in approval, "but I want to be with you."

"You are, silly." Isabela rocks her hips up to meet hers, seeking friction. Her hands shift to cup Bethany's buttocks, pulling her taut against Isabela's body. The slick cunt slowly grinding into her own is making Bethany's thoughts unravel.

"I don't mean - I mean, yes I want be your lover but I - I want more than that." She knows she isn't making a great deal of sense here. 

"Is this where you confess your love for me?" The words are said in a mocking manner but there's a glint of something resembling fear in Isabela's eyes. It's the same look she gets whenever she mentions Castillon. "Don't waste your time or the effort, sweet thing."

Bethany frowns. "Why do you always do that? Put yourself down."

Finally, Isabela stills the movement of her hips and turns her head away. "Because I'm a thief, a liar and a killer and for years I didn't give a damn. Anyone who knows me would tell you I'm selfish and would stab you in the back if there was profit in it."

"Well, I know a woman who's only ever shown me kindness, who helped my family, rescued me from the Circle, freed slaves and returned the Tome of Kuslun despite the personal cost."

"When you put it like that, I am quite a catch," Isabela chuckles then fixes Bethany with a careful look. "I can't atone for the rest of it."

"I'm not asking you to," Bethany sighs. She brushes a gentle, fleeting kiss to Isabela's lips. "I see you, all of you, and it doesn't scare me." Another kiss, firmer this time, and Isabela opens her mouth to it. "Just... stay with me? I'd rather be back in the Gallows than without you."

It's probably giving away too much of her feelings but Bethany doesn't care, she's done hiding behind pretences. 

An arm wraps tentatively around her waist. "I'm not going anywhere."

Bethany rests her cheek against the other woman's shoulder. Her skin still tingles with arousal but she wants this closeness more than anything. "You say that now but I know you'd give anything to have a ship and a crew. I'm not cut out for a life on the ocean waves; I get terrible seasickness."

Isabela lifts the mage's chin, forcing Bethany to meet her eyes. "It's true, I miss the sea but..." She pauses,  thumb sweeping over Bethany's bottom lip. "My best years of piracy are behind me. Maybe it's time to retire and live off the spoils."

The significance of those words aren't lost on Bethany but she tries not to let the elation show on her face.

"You'd be bored within days, Isabela, I know you."

"I don't plan on doing nothing. I have ideas, ventures to invest in."

Bethany gives a dubious look.

"Mostly legitimate ventures," Isabela adds with a small roll of her eyes. 

A laugh bubbles up from Bethany's chest and it provokes a smile from Isabela. Not a smirk or lecherous grin but a beautiful smile that lights her face and sets Bethany swooning. She may not be ready for ardent confessions but she pours every ounce of feeling into the kiss she presses to Isabela's mouth. She takes heart from the way Isabela's arms wrap more securely around her.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Spark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/783078) by [SwordDraconis113](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwordDraconis113/pseuds/SwordDraconis113)




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